“Survival mode is our new normal.” – Emily Graham, a bereaved parent.
Living with the loss of my son has been a rollercoaster of lessons. The only defining truth that won’t ever change is that I will always be a grieving mother.
After losing Ryan, I was told I would have to find my new “normal.” That has looked different throughout my journey. At first I was simply in survival mode. Learning to get through everyday tasks; eating, sleeping, cleaning… Then it became important for me to try to prove to everyone that I was okay, and act like everything was normal. In reality, nothing will ever feel normal again. I lie and tell people I am fine because it is too exhausting to tell them the truth, and who really wants to hear it? I couldn’t admit that I would rather lay down and die than to live with this pain.
I do not cry every day anymore, but quite honestly, I do feel like I want to everyday. There is not a single day that I don’t mention my kids, including Ryan. I smile when I talk about him, but the tears are just hiding in the background. When I share the story of how he died to someone for the first time, I find myself wondering how I am able to tell it as if it was a “normal” thing. I wonder if they are judging me because I am not crying uncontrollably while sharing it. Telling the story and feeling the pain it causes is “normal” for me, I have told my story so much over the past 10 years. I think about his life and death everyday.
Early on, I learned to give my grief a time and place. Hold it in until the time is “appropriate” for crying. What I am learning now, is to let go of societal stigmatization on grief. Grief is a normal emotion, not a mental illness. I have a right to cry and grieve all that I want, whenever I feel the need to. Just because I have tears doesn’t mean I am unable to do whatever I need to do. I have proven that I am capable of that time and time again. I am able to be happy and thankful for the blessings God has given me, even though I grieve and mourn and am angry.
There are still boundaries to my grief, or at least limitations to outwardly displaying my grief. When I describe my cry for losing and missing Ryan, the word “weep” is the one I use. It is a deep, heart wrenching moan that is felt with every cell in my body. It literally becomes hard to breathe. I feel my heart wanting to stop because the pain is so great. There are times that I scream out at God asking why he took my son and weep uncontrollably, but those are times I am alone. I believe the only time I would ever feel comfortable or safe expressing that grief honestly around others, is if I was with a group of grieving parents. I am quite sure if other people saw me in moments like that, it would scare them so bad they would think I needed to be admitted into a psychiatric hospital immediately. Other grieving parents would simply understand and know to just sit beside me and allow it to happen. There is nothing anyone could do or say to ease that pain, and trying to do so only causes frustration, anger, or even guilt. I want to have the ability to “break down” without feeling guilty that anyone around me will become distraught by my grief and feel like they need to help me. It just needs to be let out. It’s not fixable.
It is so important to talk about Ryan with others. That is how I keep him alive in my heart and mind. For me, talking about him is as easy as talking about my other children. It doesn’t come with the same reaction from the listener, however. Most people feel uncomfortable talking about him. Rarely will anyone mention his name unless I start the conversation. Normal for me now, is making sure people who are a part of my life know Ryan. I try to find ways to honor him, especially on his birthday and memorial date. Holidays have been harder as the years go on. I recently was listening to a podcast where they suggested that you explain to everyone that you want to honor your loved ones at the beginning of the gathering. Get it out there, don’t let it be the big elephant in the room that everyone is avoiding. Show honor and respect, then allow for the rest of the holiday to happen. I think this was great advice, and I am sure it will make a huge difference in how I approach holidays from now on. My stepsons listen when I talk about Ryan, but I can feel it makes them uncomfortable. Death has been a difficult subject for them. After their mother died, they rarely spoke about her. They said goodbye to her in the hospital, and she died on Mother’s Day. What a horrific memory for them. When they do talk about her around me, it is only because I ask them questions, or initiate the topic. I understand how uncomfortable talking about my deceased child can make others. I once walked in those shoes. However, I now walk in the shoes of a grieving mother, and NOTHING could feel more uncomfortable than this. I will continue to talk about Ryan and I hope that anyone who cares about me, will carry enough compassion to listen.
When discussing a recent study done about prolonged grief disorder, Dr Joanne Cacciatore wrote the following, “…more than 90% of those who have suffered traumatic losses feel their reactions are understandable, …perhaps it is society’s expectations of grief and grievers and the measures being used which are pathological and not the bereaved themselves. Perhaps we aren’t supposed to function as “normal” when our children get cancer or our partners end their lives or our parents and children and siblings are murdered in a shooting?”
To me it is obvious that society’s expectations are wrong. The only “normal” that should ever be defined by society is one where we have all walked a mile in each other’s shoes. There are many, many shoes that I pray I never have to walk in, and I promise I pray that no one ever has to walk in mine either. I pray for compassion and respect. It is important to feel comfortable enough in society to trust that others will have compassion for you. I may not like the choices people make. I may not like the beliefs people hold as true. I do not have a right to judge them as right or wrong- normal or abnormal. I feel I do have a responsibility to show them compassion. Sometimes we all need compassion.
Merriam-Webster defines compassion as “sympathetic consciousness of others’ distress together with a desire to alleviate it.”
Please understand, grief is not fixable, but having people “desire to alleviate it” is exactly what I would consider helpful! Wouldn’t this world be a much better place if society started displaying compassion instead of stigmatization?
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